Up

I’m
going
up,
and
through
the windows,
caressing
each crack
and
lining
up the
next frame.

You
are
going up
with
me and
down the
small
white
crevices,
in
between dust
and
the
years of
memories passing
through
glass touching
life.

At
last, we
are
upward-bound
and
our
days are
finally
figured out,
and
the upness
we feel
is
our natural
high
lifting us
like
two
clouds being
born.

M.C. Davis

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